


I Can’t Drown My Demons; They Know How to Swim

by pleaseactsurprisedxx



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Cutting, Eating Disorders, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleaseactsurprisedxx/pseuds/pleaseactsurprisedxx
Summary: Chloe is struggling with her demons, and Beca pushes boundaries to make sure she is okay. TRIGGER WARNING: graphic depictions of self harm (cutting and eating disorders). Rated M for theme.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	I Can’t Drown My Demons; They Know How to Swim

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Can You Feel my Heart?” By Bring Me the Horizon. 
> 
> This came from an anon ask on tumblr. This was an extremely hard write for me, with my own history of self abuse. Hence why it sat in my inbox for two months. 
> 
> If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide, self harm, eating disorders or anything dealing with mental health. Know you are not alone. You need to reach out to someone. Here is a link to hotlines: (phone and text) for various issues. https://www.benice.org/get-help/crisis-hotline

Chlo,” Beca says as she knocks slowly on the door, “You okay?” A flushing toilet and the sink running is the only response she gets. The door opens moments later. A haggard looking Chloe stands in the door jamb. Dark bags sit under red lined eyes. 

“I’m fine, Beca,” Chloe says with little emotion. 

Beca rubs the back of her neck, oozing discomfort. “It’s just the girls...and me, umm we are worried about you,” she stumbles out. 

“I told you I’m fine,” Chloe bites, and pushes past the small brunette to stomp to her bedroom and abruptly shut the door. 

Beca can hear the click of the lock slipping into place, and she lets out a deep breath, “Fuck.”

At this point, the younger woman didn’t know what to do. Beca noticed something...off about the redhead since the start of this school year. At first, Beca just thought it was the stress of starting her second senior year, but now that spring midterms are approaching, there have been signs that most of the Bellas have picked up on that something is just wrong with Chloe. 

Her typical sunny disposition is almost non-existent. She has almost tripled her cardio routine. She spends more time in the bathroom or hiding in her room than she does with the rest of the house. And most of all, she has been avoiding Beca. Before they split ways for summer vacation, Beca actually thought they were heading in a direction to maybe be something more than friends, but the Chloe that returned this school year was not the same Chloe she had developed feelings for. This Chloe seems deforested, a shell of the former, vibrant girl, that pulled Beca out of her loner persona. 

* * *

Chloe sinks to the floor. Her head thudding against the door. She feels like a failure. She didn’t graduate like she was supposed to. She could feel her parents' judgments over the summer. That combined with her own feelings on the matter made these urges, that she thought were in her past, rear their ugly heads again. Urges to binge and purge; urges to lose weight; urges to exercise; urges to hurt herself. 

She thought they left, after getting help years ago, in her senior year of high school. But turns out, they’ve never really left, even after her getting well. They’ve been there...lurking in the recesses of her mind. Just to overwhelm her now.

_ You’re fat. You’re worthless. You’re an absolute failure. Absolutely no one cares.  _

She feels them itching at her skin, no matter what she does. She just feels...helpless. 

She has lost 20 pounds from her 5’3 frame since her second senior year started, putting her at 105 pounds. But it still doesn’t feel enough. Her hips don’t show enough. Her thighs aren’t small enough.

Most of her knows this isn’t healthy. But it’s not enough to stop. She stands to look in the full body mirror. At the person she has devolved back into. Sunken cheeks, dark bags under her eyes, a shell of her former self. She hasn’t been this small in five years. 

She  _ knows  _ this isn’t healthy, but she just can’t stop. 

_ Fat. Worthless. Failure. Nobody cares. _

She sighs and slips out of her sweats and shirt, leaving her in just her bra and panties. Tears start to stream down her face as she pulls at the skin of her thighs—wishing they were smaller.

She pokes and prods at her already protruding hip bones; her gnarled fingertips trace the dips in her collarbones. Anxiety has left her nail beds a chewed up mess. Once perfectly manicured nails, gnawed to the quick. 

It doesn’t feel enough.

_ Fat. Worthless. Failure. Nobody cares.  _

Her fingers move and trace the white scars crisscrossing her thighs. Until they hit the ridged scabs of newer cuts. Reasons for each line. 

_ Should have skipped that meal. _

_ Should have ran longer.  _

_ Should have purged those calories.  _

_ Should have gotten an A not a B on that exam. _

_ Fat. Worthless. Failure. Nobody cares.  _

She takes a shaky breath, and sits on the edge of her bed, carefully removing the blade from its hiding spot on her nightstand. 

Chloe holds it in her hands for a moment, instant relief flooding over her body, but it’s not enough to not do it. She turns it around—-the sharp edge glinting in the lamp light. 

She exhales and slowly drags the blade across her thigh. 

Once.  _ You’re fat.  _

Twice.  _ You’re worthless. _

Thrice.  _ You’re a failure.  _

Crimson beads bubble to the surface, turning to thick lines of blood—-bleeding the thoughts and voices momentarily. She basks in the endorphins releasing, watching the blood slowly drip from the cuts until a timid knock interrupts her, making her drop the blade. It tumbles from her hands on the carpeted floor. 

“Go away, Beca. I said I’m fine,” but even Chloe can hear her voice shake.

“Chloe, I know you’re not,” Beca’s voice rings desperately. 

“How would you know!? Are you me now?” Chloe yells, anger seeping out of her pores at the interruption. 

Her question is met with silence from the other side until the door knob jiggles relentlessly. 

“No, of course not, but I know what it's like to not be okay. I know something is wrong, so let me in before I break in,” she replied frantically. 

Chloe doesn’t reply. She isn’t sure if Beca will complete her threat, so she scrambles to put the blade away and get dressed. She barely had her gray sweatpants pulled over her boney hips before the door swung open, leaving her still without a shirt. 

“You can hate me. I don’t care, but I had to know you were—“ Beca trails off, never finishing her thought as her eyes go immediately to her torso. The brunette’s eyebrows scrunch as she see the pitiful shape Chloe is in. Beca slowly closes the door as her eyes flit to her thighs. It makes Chloe look down, and she realizes red lines have bled through the light fabric. “Oh, Chlo,” Beca’s voice breaks. 

Chloe releases a choked sob from her throat that shakes her entire body. “I’m—I’m—not okay.” She manages between sobs. 

“Shhh,” Beca says while she steps across the room, to awkwardly wrap her arms Chloe. Chloe cries harder, but clings to Beca tightly. “Can you feel my heartbeat?” Beca asks. Chloe nods her head fiercely. “Okay, babe, focus on that. Nothing else.” They stay embraced like that for what feels like an eternity, before Chloe finally loosens her grip and lets go. She reaches for her shirt crumpled on the floor and puts it on. 

“I need to go grab the first aid kit,” Beca says, voice scratchy. She is gone less than a minute. Chloe sits numbly on the bed. Beca locks the door behind her and approaches Chloe like a wounded animal that would attack if you move too fast. She crouches in front of the redhead. “Can you, umm, let me see?” Beca asks, averting eye contact. “I don’t want it to get infected.”

“Honestly, who cares?” Chloe asks despondently. 

“I care, Chloe. I care more than you could ever know, but this isn’t the time or place to get into that.” Chloe looks at her, her icy blue eyes boring into Beca’s dark blue eyes. “Let me clean them up, please?” Beca pleads. 

Chloe stands to push her pants down before sitting back down, “I’m fucked up. Why do you care?”

Beca pours peroxide on a cotton ball, and she dabs at the cuts, making Chloe wince. “Because I love you,” Beca replies simply, eyes focused on her job at hand. Chloe tears up again, but doesn’t speak. “You didn’t give up on me. Why would I just give up on you?” Beca almost whispers. She gets some antibiotic ointment and gingerly smears them on the fresh cuts. 

Another violent sob wracks Chloe’s body, “I need help, Becs.”

“I know, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

Chloe stands to slowly pull up her pants. 

“So, what do we need to do from here?” Beca asks unsure of herself. 

“I need to find a group here. I need to call my old therapist, to get a referral. For now, will you just stay?”

“Of course, Beale.” Beca stands and disposes of the trash, before getting in the bed with the other woman. Beca lays on her back, and Chloe pulls herself into the small brunette, laying her head on her chest. Beca’s hand thread through her hair in a comforting manner. They don’t talk. They just lay there, until Chloe allows Beca’s heartbeat to act as a lullaby and sing her to sleep. The first time in six months her demons don’t whisper at her when she closes her eyes. 

She knows she has a long journey ahead of her, but she finally feels like she doesn’t have to fight her demons alone. She knows she isn’t healthy, but with help she may be able to fight it. 


End file.
